


The Man We Both Love

by A_Study_In_Johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom John, Confessions, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, It's really not talked about in detail, James Sholto Mention, Lesbian Irene, Love Confessions, M/M, Past James Sholto/John Watson, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Study_In_Johnlock/pseuds/A_Study_In_Johnlock
Summary: After watching Mary's last message, John decides to ask Sherlock the obvious question. Things get interrupted when a familiar text alert interrupts the moment and Sherlock makes a confession.





	The Man We Both Love

  
  
  
  
  


John sat stock still, his widened midnight blue eyes brimming with a sea of unshed tears.  _ The man we both love,  _ Mary said in her video, towards Sherlock. Sherlock, who was sitting next to John with his hands braced on his knees as frozen as the army doctor next to him.

The silence was deafening. Sherlock thought maybe John could hear his heart pounding between his ribs. He almost felt sick to him stomach, hoping that John wouldn’t address the obvious. But then again, Sherlock was a logical man and he knew that John was smarter than he looked. With a shaky exhale, Sherlock realised he was screwed: the truth was out. He felt his hand flex against his knee before John slowly turned to look at him.

“Sh...Sherlock.” But he said it as a statement. 

“I–”

“What did she mean?”

“John–”

“What did she mean by ‘ _ the man we both love _ ’, Sherlock?”

Before Sherlock could think to get an answer out, his phone made an awfully familiar text alert that was beginning to make Sherlock lose his mind. A woman’s moan.

_ Irene. _

Sherlock attempted to ignore it, but he could see the John’s jaw had set as if he were clenching his teeth against the onslaught of words he wanted to let out. 

The woman moaned again.

Sherlock’s eyes slid closed, but he didn’t miss how John’s arms folded against his chest. “Go on, then,” John said flatly, feigning interest. “Answer her.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to say that he had no interest in texting Irene back without John calling him a liar.

With unsure hands that surprised himself, Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen to read Irene’s texts.

I:  _ Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. _

I:  _ Confess your love to Doctor Watson yet? You know it’s imperial that I check up every once in a while. _

 

Sherlock didn’t bother sending a text back. He shut the screen off and placed his phone onto the sofa cushion behind him.

“It was nothing of importance,” Sherlock said. “Back to Mary’s–” Another woman’s moan interjected Sherlock’s speech. “Oh for  _ God’s  _ sakes!” he grabbed his phone, pushing it in between the cushions to muffle any further interrupting sounds.

John was looking at him with a blank expression. “Nothing of importance? Three texts in under two minutes. That’s new.” John’s tone went from being flat to bitter and it made Sherlock’s heart clench. He didn’t want to cause John any more pain. “Sherlock, I told you. The moment won’t always be there forever. Reply back to her.”

“ _ Why? _ ” Sherlock almost asked petulantly.

“ _ Because  _ I can tell you like her! I could tell when you two were first in a room with each other!”

“It’s  _ impossible  _ for me to like her, John!” Sherlock noticed he was growing louder with each passing word.

“ _ Why?  _ Why do you have to block people out?!”

“I am not blocking  _ anyone  _ out!”

“Then, why is it impossible for you to like her, Sherlock?!”

“Because I’m gay!” Sherlock screamed, then silence filled the room. Sherlock felt his shoulders deflate, and shook his armour away. “ _ Yes,  _ John. I’m gay.”

Then, John’s own facade fell away, his eyebrows furrowing, blue eyes widening in realisation. “Oh, God, Sherlock–why didn’t you tell me? After I…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “After I kept spewing all of that bullshit about not being gay.”

“It wasn’t important. I understand; you aren’t gay.”

“I mean, I am, I was just saying it for your benefit; I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable because I know you don’t do relationships.” John said too calmly.

Sherlock considered what John said for a long moment, attempting to process the information John had just given him. “Are you. Telling me…” Sherlock trailed off as a smirk appeared on John’s face. John revelled in any and every opportunity to render the detective speechless: it was so very rare. “You’re…” John slowly nodded, waiting. “Gay?”

“Well, bisexual. But, yes. Who do you think Sholto was to me? I believe he was the first man I was ever in love with. I thought– _ hoped _ –maybe you knew.” John’s voice grew soft, almost wistful. “It didn’t work out. After Sholto was shunned, he shut me out–shut everyone out. I wanted to stay by his side, but I could only do so much.” 

Sherlock just stared at John through widened eyes. His shock refused to be deterred. 

“So…” John began, his teeth lightly scraping along his bottom lip as he was wont to do when he as nervous or unsure. “No Irene?”

“Never Irene.” Sherlock continued to be still, completely off the subject of Irene, already going every moment he and John spent together, wondering if he’d just glossed over John’s being bisexual or if it was something else he’d chosen to ignore.

“You guys never…?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock scoffed, his attention back in the room, back on John.

“I was jealous of her.” John admitted in a murmur, almost embarrassed with himself.

“I should have known,” Sherlock said quietly, his lips pressing together. “Counting the text alerts, your being upset over me deducing her measurements–to save  _ your  _ life by the way–it all makes sense now.” Sherlock leaned his head against the back cushions of the couch, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling. Slowly, he began to sift through anything and every piece of evidence that showed he  _ knew _ about John the entire time. It was  _ everything,  _ Sherlock soon realised. The lingering looks. The things friends–let alone  _ best  _ friends–would never say to each other– ‘ _ you...ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.’ _ ‘ _ People do little else.’  _ “There’s always something,” Sherlock smiled wistfully. “Harry’s short for Harriet. Not gay, but bi,” he turned his verdigris eyes to John who was watching him with a small smile. “You are a wonder, John Watson.”

“Well, as long as I can manage to bring some sort of shock to your life, that’s good.” John murmured with a fond smile. Sherlock couldn’t help but return it. Then, they fell into an amicable–albeit, nervous–silence. Sherlock noted that John was fiddling with his own hands in his lap. 

“She said ‘ _ the man we both love’ _ ,” Sherlock spoke quietly between them.

John nodded slowly. “Sherlock…” The detective noticed his doctor was moving closer. “Please tell me that it’s not only me.”

Sherlock sat up to face John. “Of course it’s not only you. John Watson, I’ve been falling in love with you ever since you shot that cabbie to save me.  That night, I knew that I could trust you with my life. And if I could go back–to Angelo’s–I would tell you that I wasn’t unattached. I would leave out being  _ flattered _ , and I would have told you I was interested. But you...terrified me. You were an anomaly in my life so suddenly–something I’d allowed in and  _ wanted.  _ I assumed you’d leave soon after our moving in, but you stayed and no one has ever done that before. Everything in my life was so controlled until you. I was terrified you’d come in and change everything, so I shut you out that first night,” Sherlock’s head hung low, his shoulders deflated, his eyes sad. “No, John. It’s not only you.”

“I was fighting myself...constantly,” John began, wanting them both to be out in the open. “When I first met you, I thought you were mad, but I liked it. You were different, and not for the sake of other people. Of course, I was absolutely infatuated with you, but after you told me you were married to your work, I figured it’d be best if I started dating women casually. But, then, you were always  _ there  _ and, then, the women were gone. It got to the point where I couldn’t tell one from the other, then it grew to the point where I just... _ stopped.  _ I stopped caring. I wanted a life with you more than anything in any way I could have you. And then…” John’s next words got caught in his throat.

Sherlock looked at him for a long time and decided to speak it out into the room. “And then, I died.”

John nodded, releasing a shaky breath. “And then, you died. It ripped me apart from the inside out in ways that I couldn’t imagine. When you came back, I fought with myself to hold onto Mary because I felt like I couldn’t trust you to stay, that I couldn’t tie my happiness to you. And you were amazing through it all, Sherlock, you really were,” John’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “The wedding, the best man speech, all of it. I should have seen the signs but I see them now. They’re undeniable now. At the wedding, you equated Mary’s love for me with yours and I... _ should have known. _ Then, she shot you. And I lost you again. I was so angry with you–both of you–for that  _ surgery  _ bullshit. Because you flatlined. I  _ know  _ you flatlined because I saw it. And I had to pretend that I still  _ loved  _ her after that when...had she not been pregnant with Rosie...Sherlock, I don’t know what I would have done.”

But John didn’t have to say it for Sherlock to know. John was as a dangerous man as he was protective, that much was obvious. 

John continued, letting his tears fall. “Every time you needed me...I failed you. With Magnussen. I attributed you shooting him to it just being one of your sociopathic tendencies when you did it to protect Mary and–as a result–me. And when Culverton came along, I didn’t believe you. I...I  _ beat  _ you.” John’s voice broke. “How can you…how can  _ we... _ ?” but he didn’t finish his either of his questions, his widened eyes meeting Sherlock’s for an answer.

Sherlock reached over to take John’s hands into his, revelling in the fact that they could do this now. That they could comfort each other. “I think...it’s time we stop hurting each other, John.”

Without saying a word, John nodded his head vigorously.

“I think you and I have had more than enough of our share of bruises, physically and emotionally. And now, it’s time to be honest and open. No more lies.”

“No more lies,” John whispered in agreement.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “I love you. Everything I do, I do for you and I will continue to do for you until my last breath. I never told you, but when I left for two years, you needed to be there to see me fall. Moriarty’s men had three snipers on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade if I didn’t jump.”

“Jesus!” John gaped at Sherlock.

“All I ever wanted to do was protect you. But the only person Moriarty failed to put a sniper on was the only person who could help me: Molly. It wasn’t...favouritism; it was necessary.”

John nodded. “I love you, too. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’ve saved me life on several occasions–from myself and others. I wasn’t happy in my marriage. I wasn’t happy until you were pulling me back in for cases. I just wanted  _ you. _ ”

Sherlock lifted his hand in a test. He cupped the side of John’s face and John leaned into the detective’s palm, closing his eyes.

“Please,” John whispered, pressing his lips against the heel of Sherlock’s hand.

“Yes.” Sherlock murmured, his eyes focused solely on John. “Anything.”

John pulled Sherlock in and the detective met him halfway, pressing their lips together. A surge of arousal rushed up John’s spine and he pushed the taller man back against the sofa before climbing into his lap. Sherlock gazed up at him with dilated pupils, his cupid bow lips swollen and parted. “Where?”

“Here.” John leaned in to kiss Sherlock again with a purpose. His hands found the buttons of Sherlock’s white shirt, undoing them one by one, revealing more skin as he went down. John’s lips found the underside of Sherlock’s jaw, tasted the prickly hairs from his stubble. John noted Sherlock smelled of sandalwood and honey and found himself intoxicated. 

“God,” Sherlock gasped as John sucked a mark into his skin, his hips canting up involuntarily against John’s. They both stilled as their erections touched. There was a second, a moment, where neither of them knew what to do next. 

Then, Sherlock quickly turned, pushing John down onto the sofa below him. One of John’s legs hung over the side whilst his other leg rested, bent at the knee against the back of the sofa. Sherlock began undoing the buttons to John’s shirt and practically ripped the material on its way off, his lips finding John’s.

“I have lube,” John gasped.

“Where?” Sherlock’s lips trailed down to let John speak.

“Bedside table. Upstairs.”

“Don’t. Move.” Sherlock murmured, sending a shiver down the doctor’s spine and, with swift movement and impossible grace, Sherlock rushed upstairs. In the quiet of the flat, John could hear the drawer open and slam shut before hearing the telltale sound of Sherlock rushing back down the stairs. With a quick movement of his foot, Sherlock shut the door and locked it. He sat on the couch in between John’s legs and his hands gripped the waistband of John’s trousers. He unbuttoned them and undid the zip, revealing John’s pants underneath. With his help, Sherlock pulled John’s trousers and pants down, stopping to undo the laces on John’s shoes, before sliding them off and onto the floor.

Sherlock settled in between John’s legs and gazed into his midnight blue eyes. “Alright?”

“Yes.” John nodded.

Sherlock undid the cap of half empty lube with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow as he spread the lube generously onto three fingers. “Been using this often, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” John smirked which faltered into a soft moan as he felt Sherlock’s long index finger circling around around his rim. “Jesus.”

“What do you think about?” Sherlock wondered aloud in a sultry tone, letting his baritone voice drop an octave lower. He gently pushed his index finger into John, watching, enraptured, as his hole attempted to greedily swallow his finger. “Hmm,” Sherlock hummed, pleased, pressing his lips to the side of John’s inner thigh. “You do it often enough, don’t you?” the detective’s teasing tone didn’t leave.

“Yes,” John gasped. “I think of you. Every time.”

Sherlock’s lips quirked up into a devilish smirk. John knew that smirk all too well. It should have terrified him, but it made his arousal all the more potent. Sherlock’s finger circled inside him, getting John accustomed to the feeling before he added another. John’s back arched into Sherlock’s touch, frustrated because no matter how much he moved, the detective purposefully avoided his prostate. 

“What do I do?” Sherlock inquired softly, his eyes washing over John in a way that made him feel cherished and overwhelmed all the same.

“You…” John trailed off, releasing a breath as Sherlock began to scissor him open. “You, uh...you open me up for you with your fingers while I suck you off. And, th-then, you fuck me.”

“Hard?” Sherlock murmured against John’s inner thigh.

John nods vigorously. “Very hard.”

“Lovely.” Sherlock murmured as he added his third finger. “So tight and warm, John. You truly are a wonder,” John whimpered when Sherlock removed his fingers. “On your hands and knees, John–facing me.” Sherlock ordered.

John clambered onto his hands and knees, watching, fascinated, as Sherlock removed his trousers, revealing no pants underneath. John groaned at the sight of him–alabaster skin, freckles standing out like constellations. His cock was long and pink, hanging heavily against his sac. John’s mouth watered.

With no hesitation, John took Sherlock’s cock into his hand. He used slow strokes, enjoying the feel of Sherlock’s cock in his palm, the weight of it, the dusty rose colour that matched his nipples and lips. When John leaned forward to taste, running his tongue up the underside of Sherlock’s length, against his frenulum, and around the glans, revelling in the jerk of Sherlock’s hips.

John softly sucked on the head of Sherlock’s cock, letting his saliva gather in his mouth before taking Sherlock’s length down as far as he could go. John used his hand for what he couldn’t fit and began bobbing his head down onto the length of Sherlock’s cock, his hand stroking and twisting at the base. John’s tongue swirled around Sherlock’s frenulum and glans, causing his hips to buck.

“ _ Fuck,  _ John,” Sherlock gasped, running his fingers through John’s short hair. “I’m not going to last. Not like this.”

John granted Sherlock mercy, pulling back with one last swirl of his tongue, smirking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock pushed John back onto the cushions and spread his legs, settling between them. He found the lube and spread it onto his hand, coating his cock before letting the head of his length rest against John’s rim.

“Alright?” Sherlock asked, breathing heavily.

“ _ Yes, _ ” John breathed, feeling the head of Sherlock’s cock pop through the rim of his hole. “God, yes.” 

Sherlock’s jaw was clenched tightly, but he pushed himself into John, inch by inch, until he was flush against John, buried deep within the smaller man.

“ _ Oh, _ ” Sherlock gasped against the skin of John’s neck. He began to move slowly, letting John become adjusted. John, on the other hand, could only feel pulses of pleasure riding up and down his spine. There was a slow burn, a delicious burn, that John felt when Sherlock bottomed out. It was a sensorial pleasure, feeling Sherlock all around him, his scent, Sherlock’s moans in his ear, the taste of his precum still on his tongue.

“ _ Sherlock, _ ” John groaned. “Please.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. “Okay.” He pulled back, the head of his cock catching on John’s rim before slamming back into the man under him, slamming against John’s prostate.

“ _ Ohhh, fuck, _ ” John keened, his hands grabbing at Sherlock’s hips. The man above him set a brutal pace, pounding into him until John could only see stairs. “ _ Sherlock. _ ”

“Was it like this?” Sherlock whispered against the shell of John’s ear. “Did I fuck you like this?”

“ _ Yes, _ ” John moaned.

Sherlock pulled back to gaze into John’s eyes, his hips rolling up, smacking his hips against John’s, creating the most erotic sounds that resonated off of the flat’s walls. John, faltering, felt like he was going to explode. Sherlock held nothing back, pounding his prostate on every thrust. 

“ _ Please.”  _ John gasped, reaching for his weeping, untouched cock. Sherlock gripped his hands, pinning John’s wrists above his head.

“On my cock alone,” Sherlock growled. “You come on my cock alone.”

A tortured whine ripped from John’s mouth, but he nodded. The consistent thrusts against his prostate didn’t falter and John felt a familiar tightening in the pit of his belly. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “ _ Oh, God. _ ”

“Like this?” Sherlock moaned and John nodded, feeling the pleasure rush up his spine. Then, his body tremored as Sherlock slowed down into deep thrusts, eliciting an agonized gasp from John’s lips.

“Sherlock!”

“I know,” Sherlock whispered. “ _ Feel  _ me. Feel us.” He pulled back to gaze into John’s eyes. He nodded, their eyes never leaving as Sherlock began to push deeply into John, slowly. His hips were rolling against John’s in sensuous movements that made John moan. “There you go,” Sherlock breathed. “Feel it, John.” Sherlock’s voice echoed through his head, causing his cock to leak more precum. 

Then, Sherlock’s pace sped up once again, his thrusts still deep. John’s back arched as he released a moan of shock. Sherlock was going to be the cause of him losing his mind, he was sure of it. John knew he was almost there, his bollocks squeezing up tight, closer to his body, Sherlock’s cock hitting his prostate eliciting whimpering moans.

“Come on, John,” Sherlock moaned, his lips pressing under John’s jaw, to his neck. “Come for me–let me hear you.”

With an unexpected, violent tremor, John came with a moan between him and Sherlock, coating their bodies with his come, releasing in long waves. Sherlock came afterwards with a groan, his come filling John’s hole to the point of spilling out onto the couch below them.

John’s hands, still held captive by Sherlock’s, stroked the man’s hands above him until he came to. When Sherlock’s unfocused eyes met John’s, he kissed him.

“That was mind blowing,” John breathed when they pulled away. 

“We should do that more often. Perhaps everyday. You know, for results. Solely for experimental purposes, of course.”

“You’re going to kill me,” John chuckled and felt Sherlock giggle against his neck.

“Next time, we should try the other way round.”

John’s cock gave an interested twitch and he felt Sherlock smirk. “You want…?” John trailed off.

“Well, you’re not the only person that fantasises about being fucked, you know.” Sherlock said so casually that John had to gape at him.

“You’re...a madman.  _ My  _ madman. And I love you very much.” John murmured fondly.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed sleepily. “I love you too.”

They laid there, despite the mess between them, letting themselves enjoy the moment while they were there. 

When they finally decided to get up, Sherlock fetched a flannel to clean them. John rose onto shaky feet and Sherlock kissed him sweetly.

“Let’s go to bed,” Sherlock murmured and John nodded. “You go, I’ll get the clothes.” Sherlock watched John’s backside as he walked down the hall, letting himself into  _ their  _ room. Sherlock gathered their clothes into his arms, then frowned. He set them down to grab his phone to read Irene’s last text.

I:  _ Kate says hello by the way. She loves the engagement ring you suggested. _

Sherlock smiled.

_ No problem–give her my best. John and I have worked things through, by the way. Thank you, Mrs. Adler. _

_ -S.H. _

Sherlock picked up their clothes and went into their room where John was lying on his side, waiting. Sherlock placed them into his clothing bin and climbed into bed next to John, pulling his army doctor into his embrace. John’s fingers intertwined with Sherlock’s as they laid together, letting sleep overtake them.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! If you liked it, leave me a comment telling me what you liked most. I enjoy all feedback.
> 
> Come and say hi on tumblr: consulting-writer.tumblr.com
> 
> Have a great day!


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